Double Deceit

by Julienne Brouwers

  “They seem to be arranged in alphabetical order,” Sandra concluded.

  We frantically checked all the file names until we came across a thick folder with the name ‘Van Santen’ hand-written on it.

  I couldn’t believe our luck. “This must be it,” I shouted.

  Sandra put a finger to her lips. “Shhh!”

  “What now?” I whispered, clutching the file to my chest, as if it were as precious as gold. “We can’t just take this with us. They might notice it’s missing.”

  Sandra took my hand and directed the light from my phone toward the entrance of the room. A copier.

  “Perfect,” I breathed, feeling glad I had her as my companion.

  I picked up the folder, pulled out the haul of papers and laid it onto the copier. After pressing the button, the sheets were run through the machine at lightning speed making a tremendous noise and exasperating my nerves, but I knew it would be faster than taking pictures with my phone.

  “Let’s go, we’ve got what we came for,” Sandra whispered and restored the folder to its original location.

  She rested her head against the door to the hallway and listened. After a quick nod, Sandra slowly opened the door, stuck her head around it with the utmost caution and looked both ways.

  “The coast is clear,” she declared and slipped out, turning right towards the lifts.

  I quickly followed her and tried to walk as relaxed as possible, although everything in my gait felt awkward and unnatural. Once downstairs, we passed the reception again, where there were now four security guards who seemed to be occupied with the handover from the night to day shift and thankfully didn’t notice us.

  Once we’d slunk out of the building, the square seemed worlds apart from our arrival earlier. Where there had been an abandoned, shady atmosphere before, now dawn had broken, bringing with it a vast number of commuters rushing to start their day at some of the most important firms and offices located here in the financial heart of Amsterdam.

  I experienced a huge feeling of relief and leaped for joy. “Yeah, we did it,” I exclaimed.

  Sandra laid a hand on my arm. “Easy tiger. Someone might notice us.”

  Our comfortable outfits had been very suitable for the night, but now our hoodies stood out starkly among the business attire surrounding us. I felt foolish, suddenly fully aware of it. “You’re right. We must be careful not to draw attention to ourselves.” I gently pulled Sandra by her sleeve. “Come on. Let’s go to my car, so we can talk for a bit.”

  We weaved our way through the crowd and not much later, Sandra was sitting next to me in my Volvo, pulling out the copies from her bag. We decided to divide the enormous stack of paper in two and each go through half at home.

  I glanced at my watch and remembered what Sandra had told me. “Shouldn’t you be leaving? Otherwise your husband might start asking questions.”

  She shrugged and seemed to have changed her mind. “I’ll just say that I went for a run. It’ll be fine, as long as I make it home before half past eight so I can slip the key card back in his briefcase. He’s not really interested in my whereabouts these days,” she said with a sad look in her eyes. “He’s lost interest in me a long time ago. The only reason I’m staying with him is because of his money,” she said coldly. “And the only reason for him to stay with me is to have a beautiful wife by his side, for him to show off at parties.”

  This personal note that came out of nowhere filled me with horror. I was gobsmacked there were people who could lead their lives like that. “I’m sure it can’t be all that bad? You must have been together for this long for a good reason,” I tried half-heartedly.

  She emitted a cynical laugh and plucked her trousers, avoiding my gaze.

  There was a painful silence as we looked out through the windscreen, where it had started drizzling. I was searching hard for the right words, feeling uncomfortable, but in the end decided to leave it at that.

  “How about I phone you later today to go over the contents of the file,” I suggested. A feeling of tiredness had washed over me and I was looking forward to snuggling up on the couch with a warm cup of coffee and a buttered croissant.

  I seemed to have interrupted Sandra in her ponderings. “What?” she said blankly. “Oh right. Sure.”

  14

  I opened the front door and saw the love of my life standing on my doorstep.

  “Mummyyyyy,” Tim yelled and threw himself into my arms. I lifted him up and swirled him around.

  “Baby, I’m so glad you’re back,” I said, hugging him tightly. He wrapped his chubby arms around my neck and nuzzled me.

  My mother watched us with a smile on her face, her grey hair tucked tightly into a bun.

  I stepped aside and pulled her gently by the shoulder. “Come inside, Mum.”

  “Well, well, well, it took me ages to find a parking spot again,” she muttered, though in a friendly manner. She wiped her shoes on the doormat before stepping in. “I can’t understand how you manage to go through that every day. Not to mention how expensive parking rates are around here. I’m getting too old for this,” she grumbled half-heartedly. It was part of a fixed ritual upon her arrival – my mother was unable to accept the inconveniences of a big city like Amsterdam.

  “I know Mum, ridiculously expensive,” I feigned agreement, although of course she never had to pay since we had a visitor’s parking pass.

  “How did the sleepover go?” I asked when she’d hung up her coat in the hallway and was sat at the dining table.

  “It was lovely. We had so much fun together. Tim polished off the spaghetti your Dad made and slept in his cot from half past seven until seven this morning.” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me smugly. “At our place he always sleeps like a baby.”

  “It takes a village to raise a child, mum,” I responded with a crooked grin. My parents were of the opinion that their tough love approach would make Tim listen better. “I used to be as sweet as an angel whenever I went for a sleepover at my grandparents, remember?”

  My mother dodged my comment and carried on summarising the events. “Granddaddy got up with you this morning, didn’t he, Timmy, so your grandmother could sleep in for a bit.” She lifted him onto her lap and buried her nose in his neck. “We had a wonderful time together, didn’t we darling?”

  Tim nodded and my mother gave him a peck on the head.

  He slid off her lap and trotted towards his toy kitchen. “Tim play.”

  “You go and play, sweetie,” my mother responded. She leaned over to grab something out of a bag and then put a plastic box on the table. “I made you diner.”

  I lifted the blue lid at one end and peeked through the opening: macaroni with a pureed, red sauce. Although I couldn’t shake off the impression that it was a subtle hint I ought to make a proper diner more often for Tim and me, I elected to thank my mother for the food.

  “Cappuccino?” I asked.

  “Sounds delicious.”

  I went to the open plan kitchen, placed a mug under the coffee machine and pressed the button. Then I poured milk into the frother and waited for it to foam. The sink was a mess and failed to do justice to the ultramodern and high-end kitchen that we’d had installed in the house last year. I had my back turned towards my mother and rubbed a hand across my tired eyes. After returning home from my nocturnal adventure with Sandra this morning, I’d been so exhausted that I’d gone back to bed, but each time I nodded off I instantly woke up again. The thoughts about our search at Mason & McGant had kept going in circles around my mind. I was also mystified about what could be on those DVDs that I’d chanced upon.

  “I love what you’ve done with the living room,” I heard my mother say.

  I looked up and noticed how she was standing by the original marble mantelpiece, which adorned the living room, her hands clasped behind her back. On top was a photo of Oliver in a silver frame next to a flickering candle in a glass vase. My mother and Oliver had never been the best of friends �
�� she felt our backgrounds differed too much – but over the years she’d had a change of heart as she watched our relationship cement and eventually came to appreciate his good characteristics.

  I put down my mother’s cup of coffee in front of her and we both sat down at the dining table.

  “Thank you.” She looked intently at me. “So what exactly were you up to last night?”

  I turned my gaze and looked outside. The garden made a desolate impression in the winter. “Nothing,” I tried, alarmed by the sudden maternal probing.

  “Oh come on. You called us last minute to ask if Tim could come over and stay with us for the night,” she said as if she minded, which we both knew wasn’t true. “The least you can do is be honest about what’s been going on,” my mother put the squeeze on.

  I buckled and told her about how I’d learnt that a complex case at the firm had demanded much from Oliver, and how Sandra and I had snuck into the firm last night and copied the Van Santen files. I didn’t feel like sharing what role Sandra had played in Oliver’s life, as it was all too raw and painful.

  My mother touched my arm. There was a look of concern on her face as she spoke with a catch in her throat. “Darling, are you sure this is a good idea? Oliver worked for criminals,” she stated, which was, technically speaking, correct. Nevertheless, it bothered me that even after his death she still seemed to frown upon his choice to defend potential criminals in order to earn a large salary. “I don’t think it’s wise to get mixed up in things like that,” my mother continued.

  I couldn’t deny that she’d struck a chord and I sighed. I nodded at her cup. “Another refill?”

  She smiled. “Yes please.”

  I stood up and while I made the coffee I reflected on her comments.

  “You’re right,” I responded, after putting a second cup in front of her on the table.

  Tim was still playing in his kitchen, happy, without a care in the world, and came up to me, bringing an imaginary ice cream. “Thank you, pumpkin.” I licked it demonstratively and spoke in a cheerful voice. “It’s delicious.”

  After he hobbled back to his toys I carried on. “But I really need to know what happened in his life in the last few months.”

  My mother frowned and looked concerned. I’d never shared our relationship dip with her, so she was probably surprised by my statement. “Why don’t you come and live with us for a while?” she suggested.

  “How would that help anything?” I blurted out, but I regretted it immediately after I saw the hurt expression on her face. “Sorry Mum, I didn’t mean it like that. Surely, you must understand I can’t just pick up my belongings and move? I’ve got everything here, my work, my home, my girlfriends. Tim goes to a day-care centre he really enjoys. I can’t just throw it all out of the window.”

  My mother took a sip of her coffee. “It would only be temporary. You could drive to work from our place, right? Even at rush hour you’d make it within one hour. Besides, if you lived with us, Tim wouldn’t have to go to day-care. We could take care of him,” she said with a look of hopeful enthusiasm. I was an only child and my mother evidently liked to see me close to her. “If you’d like to grab a bite with your friends after work, you wouldn’t have to worry about finding a babysitter.” She gave a sigh of bliss. “Ah. It’d be wonderful for us to all live together again in our little village. You’ve never been a city girl at heart, darling. Wasn’t that always Oliver’s influence?”

  I didn’t quite grasp why, but I felt affronted. Perhaps it was childish and even a tad condescending, but I’d always considered myself as someone who had outgrown the countryside. Surely, the provinces were too dull for me, weren’t they? I loved the liveliness and anonymity here in the city, particularly now that Oliver was no longer around. The thought of having to live in a small town community again, where everyone surely had an opinion about me, was quite stifling.

  I patted her arm. “That’s really kind of you to offer, Mum,” I said, forcing a smile. “But we’re managing just fine here.”

  She shrugged and gave me a wink. “You can’t blame me for trying.” My mother looked at her watch, drained her coffee and stood up. “Aunt Anne is coming over to have lunch with us.” Since my parents had both retired early last year, they’d filled their lives with gardening, cycling and lunch appointments.

  My mother said goodbye to Tim and walked to the corridor where she slid her arms into her winter coat. She frowned. “Will you promise to be careful, darling?”

  I nodded, and she closed the front door behind her. With Tim on my hip, I waved at my mother through the window.

  After lunch with Tim, I picked him up and went upstairs. As always, we gave ‘Daddy a kiss’ together. Then I tucked him into bed for his afternoon nap, turned on his musical bear and headed downstairs.

  I resisted the urge to take a nap myself and took the copies of the Van Santen case out of my handbag. I felt jittery – would my nosing around ultimately bring skeletons out of the closet?

  I went through the pile of papers one by one and stumbled upon detailed transcripts between various lawyers and their clients. Next to the client names, numbers were written in brackets. The lawyers were abbreviated with two letters. One was OS, which presumably referred to Oliver Smits. An RH and LT were also mentioned. I wondered to whom these belonged. I went over and over in my mind, trying to come up with names, but none of the colleagues Oliver used to mention corresponded with the abbreviations.

  I then discovered a separate page on which a table was drawn by hand, containing a schematic overview of the various clients. The scribble looked familiar and I was pretty sure I recognised Oliver’s handwriting. A list of clients was included with notes next to each name, categorised into two groups: forensic evidence and telephone data.

  I looked up. My head was spinning as a result of all of this information. The table supposedly helped Oliver to create some sort of overview, to bring order to the chaos, but I couldn’t make heads or tails out of the scrawled notes.

  Furthermore, the name Van Santen didn’t show up in the file at all, even though it had been on the cover, which diverged from common practice, as Oliver had once told me that files were named after their client’s name. This file, however, gave the impression of simply being a summary and an overview of several cases.

  I was curious to see whether Sandra had found any information about Van Santen in the stack of papers she’d taken home and decided to ring her.

  It didn’t take her long to answer my call.

  I cut right to the chase. “Sandra, it’s me. Is this a convenient time for you to talk?”

  “I have to leave in ten minutes. I’m meeting my personal trainer. He is going to whip me into shape again,” she added with a lascivious giggle.

  I raised my eyebrows. She seemed to be preoccupied with many other things. “Have you gone through the papers yet?” I asked, somewhat irritated.

  ‘Papers? Oh right, read them this morning. A lot of gobbledegook, if you ask me,” she said rather ignorantly.

  I informed her about what I’d found in my half. “It looks like Oliver was making an overview of a number of clients who in the past had been availed of legal counsel by the office. I find it strange that I didn’t come across the name Van Santen anywhere, but apart from that there are few indications that he’d been involved in a shady case.”

  “I see what you’re saying,” Sandra responded. “On my end, I’ve nothing special to report either. I did some digging through those papers and swiftly put them aside again. Full of lawyer mumbo jumbo that I couldn’t make any sense of.” That seemed to be the end of the matter to her.

  We weren’t making much progress. “There must be something in those papers,” I said in despair. I didn’t want to let go yet, this was my final resort.

  “Well I did notice the same two categories you mentioned,” Sandra suddenly remarked. “Forensic evidence and telephone information,” she summed up. “In the first category a reference was made to
the Dutch Forensic Institute. Would you happen to know what that is?”

  As a result of my profession I did have some knowledge of the forensics field. “It’s an institution that conducts forensic investigations for the prosecution in cases like murder, rape and the like.”

  “What was that again, forensic investigation?” Sandra asked in a way that showed she didn’t have the slightest idea.

  I managed to suppress a sigh. “DNA testing of traces. Hair, sperm. Things like that,” I put in a nutshell. Sometimes I wondered what in the world Oliver had seen in this woman. She certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.

  “Oh right, that’s it,” she responded. “There was also a name of a person written next to the entry for the Dutch Forensic Institute.”

  My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Do you reckon it was someone who works there?”

  “Possibly,” she said, and I heard her swallow something. “Sorry, I’m eating a banana. Need to quickly pump up my energy levels before I get started,” she added. “The words ‘senior scientist’ were written in brackets by the name,” she continued, articulating the words slowly.

  That indeed sounded like someone who was employed at the institute. Why would Oliver have been interested in this person?

  “Next to the telephone details there was a company name, TelExact Ltd,” Sandra spoke again. “With various numbers and arrows scribbled on the page.”

  It was difficult for me to comprehend the full extent of the data that Sandra was summing up over the phone. “I think it’s crucial that we assemble the documents and view them together,” I said. “You seem to have access to a lot more information than I do. Let’s meet up again.”

  There was a pause. “There’s something very fishy about this case. I’d rather not get involved any further, Jennifer.”

  “But …” I started.

  She interrupted me. “Listen, I understand this is all very hard for you,” she said without a trace of emotion in her voice. “But I believe I’ve contributed my fair share. I want to go on with my life and leave all of this behind me before we’re in over our heads. What I can do for you though is scan the pages and put them on a shared drive in order for you to continue working on it by yourself. I’ll send you the link with a password later.”